Story 1, Scene 1
Jack My Cadillac rumbles like an irritated bear as I round the corner. This part of town is a pile of crap, and the knocking in my engine tells me that she doesn’t appreciate having to chug the shit-smelling air. I give Ogmios an up-and-down look, skepticism on my face. He’s been insisting that this is what we’ve been looking for. “Seriously?” I motion up to the bridge overhead. The dirt and mud beneath the giant concrete structure is, to my eyes, the kind of place you’d find a gathering of hobos. Hell, the more I look at it? The more I think that’s actually what goes on here -- there’s a metal barrel over there, probably filled with charred... junk. “This is the kind of place I should be wearing shitty finger-less gloves and an oil stained jacket two sizes too big for me,” I grunt as my hand hits the steering wheel. I turn the car off, and she lets out a sigh of relief. Either that, or that was a belt whirring out of place. ...Man, I really hope she turns back on when it’s time to go. “You said you were going to find a place where an investment was going to pay off, not a place to take a shit when the outhouse is out of order.” Ogmios Loosening my tie just a tad more I reach over to the door handle of Jack's car and pull, then shove my shoulder into it so that it will actually open. "Look, I got a good tip on this place. Take it or leave it." I walk around to the back of the car stopping to take in the view. The barrel might come in handy. "Anyway, I thought you wanted to know. We can knock off if you change your mind." My gaze drifts down to the trunk, expectant. Jack “Oi, watch the door. She needs a nudge, not a friggin’ suplex.” I then slam into my own door and follow Ogmios outside. My work boot scuffs the gravel and I stretch the kink out of my back. “Tip shmip,” I grumble, and pop the trunk open. Of course, I don’t just up and leave. Everything leaving my mouth is doubtful, but despite that, I’m obviously interested in seeing what’s up. Ogmios hasn’t done me wrong yet. Except with that burger joint. God that was disgusting. But that’s really the only -- well, that and the pizza place. ...And the coffee shop. “At least it’s not food this time,” I muse out loud, reaching into the trunk and pulling out my duffel-bag. I sling it over my shoulder and motion for him to lead the way. Ogmios Grabbing my own duffel bag of mystical junk I grunt under its weight. Moros tools suck. Once we get under the overpass I set it down and root around inside it until I come out with a chalk-line. I close my eyes and sway slightly as I walk forward, "The vibes are telling me that the vibiest place is..." Step. "Here." I stop, open my eyes, and pull out a length of chalk string, holding out one end for Jack to take. "Take it, maintain a distance of six feet, six inches and a sixth of an inch and we'll mark the ground with the radials for a circle." Jack “Vibes,” I nod. Well, no judgement here. I keep an eye open for faerie doors, the hell room do I have to complain? I take my end of the string and keep it taught with him as he sets up his distance. Given that I have practically zero experience with the Arcanum of Space, it’s easier for him to be all exact about measurements while I just stand around looking dumb and being lazy by putting in no measurement efforts. I mark the circle and dust off my hands, heading over to my duffel bag and pull out my hex-bag. I rattle it and fish around with two fingers, pulling out four mostly-similar looking old coins. I toss them to the points on the circle that Ogmios indicates should be marked; roughly intuiting that he’s intending to invoke the Time-wheel and as such selecting the oldest coins I have. While Ogmios moves onto his next step, I close my eyes and open my mind to the Supernal. It’s unwise to work a time-scrying Rite without, you know, checking to make sure the flow of time in the area we’re in is… well, not warped as fuck. Right? I open my eyes, and feel the tick-tock tick-tock inside my irises, which glint, baby blues shining like the sky on a perfect sunny day. There’s a shimmer of light across them as I focus on the iconography of reality around us. Every Mage using the Sight, looking at the Truth, sees something different. Me? I see the cracks in reality, the open holes that go… somewhere. Somewhen. The roads of time, along which the stories of Fate are written, to the naked (open) eye -- they look like growing… crevices on things. Sometimes, those potential paths that are laden with possibility show some thorns. Or maybe a bit of faerie dust sprinkled into the air around them. And as I take in the sights around me… “Woah,” I reach out a hand toward Ogmios and throw the other into a fist to catch my immediate coughing fit. “Not-” cough - “good,” I stumble back and grab a handkercheif out of my denim jacket’s inner pocket. “Holy shit I hate inhaling this stuff,” I wince, catching my breath. “Something’s up.” My eyes dance all over the place. This whole place is riddled with crevices. The shimmering, glowing lights make keeping my eyes focused really difficult. The sparkling fairy dust in the air is a thick haze, and from all these dozens of cracks in Time are crawling so many thorny Vines you’d think it was Poison Ivy’s lusty hideout. I focus my eyes and inhale. “...Dude. Tardis alert.” I motion around. “Something… recent.” I kneel down, fishing my Athame out from being tucked behind my back and use it to pry open at the edges of one of the crevices, trying to see inside it. I can see, through the crevice, this damn underpass. And there’s Ogmios and I, with the string… moments ago. That’s when it hits me: The Nimbus. I can feel the driving vengeful hunger of a sore loser willing and able to do anything to punish his competitors for daring to defeat him pouring through my veins... “Whoever just hopped a ride on the Wheel is pissed.” I look up at Ogmios. “You feel that?” Mental checklist: Someone just hopped their asses back in time. The magic is only recent -- so they didn’t take a particularly long trip into their past, probably a few hours at most -- and they are not a happy camper. “They only took a few hours’ step back. Someone wants a do-over. Badly…” I look up and down the road, a little nervously. “And now we’re witness. Awesome.” Ogmios "Great. I was hoping to have to drink this only once today." I grumble, holding up the bottle of Popov vodka I'd brought along for our little errand. Maybe someday I should attempt spirits divinations with top shelf stuff, but I can't really afford it at the moment. Sloshing some into my skull chalice I take a swig. As the alcohol burns down my throat I close my eyes and mix it with some of the mana in my pattern spreading it with the warmth of the drink into the rest of my system. Then I open my eyes. They lock onto the open grave, that only I can see, in the ground and I hunch over to peer in moving my hand through the detritus left behind by an escaped body. "Shit, it's Mercury." I hold up a picture that's been ripped to cut out one of its subjects in anger. Two people left in the picture, "Looks like he brought someone along." Looking at the picture again I fold it and put it into a pocket, it might be invisible and intangible to everyone but me, but you hang onto evidence when you find it. Jack Ogmios immediately sets to studying the mystery of the magic. I take a step back, close my Third Eye to the magical world, and let him do the heavy lifting. Not seeing faerie dust and bright light everywhere is a relief. “Mercury?” I ask. The question was obvious: Who the hell is Mercury? I mean, it’s probably the Shadow Name used by whoever it is that cast this spell in a fit of sore-loser frustration. And, if I’m right and Ogmios knows who that is? That gives me an edge in getting out of the line of fire. I watch him; knowing that he sees the Supernal Truths much more differently than I do. I’m an Acanthus; I see the world through Fate and Time. Ogmios is a Moros: he sees the world through Matter and Death. Those things would, alone, be wildly different glimpses at the Supernal all around us, in and of themselves -- but to top it off, we’re just magically different. So there’s an extra layer of difference. That’s why I don’t bother questioning him stuffing invisible bits of evidence in his pocket. He’s obviously experiencing the world of magic in his own way. He’s also saying there’s more than one person along for the ride. “Seriously? I didn’t even know you could take a passenger along…” I mutter, shoving my shades a little further up my nose. “Been so focused on working with Goetia that I haven’t had much time for studying temporal magic,” I mutter. I have some innate-born talent with the Arcanum of Time, but it’s not much. I reach back down into the duffel bag and and pull out a blood-stained length of iron pipe. It’s the perfect thickness and balance to be weaponized in one hand; about two feet long and wide enough to fit very comfortably in my fist. The end opposite my grip is a little… dented. I twirl the iron pipe and motion to Ogmios. “So… I know we came here to go Name Digging. But how about we go scrying back a few minutes to see who this Mercury dickhead brought along for the ride?” Ogmios Standing up I turn to face Jack, "Mercury is an asshole in the Scribes. He likes to use his connections to con people. Basically, it's like what I do to Sleepers, but he does it as an abuse. He doesn't help them reach any kind of solace or closure." I walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder in what might in another scenario be considered a comforting gesture. I move into his personal space just enough for it to be noticeable but not uncomfortable. When I open my mouth I let the High Speech out in a low, soft tone. I use it to speak of the past, "Remember that time yesterday? We went to Benny's for breakfast and you complained about the cream in your coffee going sour." Speaking of the past makes the past remember itself, showing the past that it mattered to you convinces it to open itself up. As the spell completes I step away and look at our surroundings. They're almost identical, maybe the sky is a bit greyer from the fog that clung to the city yesterday. The barrel is upright. As we watch there's a sound of fluttering wings and Mercury and a guy I don't recognize step from behind one of the pillars of the underpass moving past us. Mercury has movie star good looks, blonde hair, blue eyes, sharp suit. His usually inviting expression is twisted in anger and he kicks the barrel over as he walks past it, "Look, I told you. The drop has to be moved, clearly those fucks figured out where we were going to be and set us up. If we can arrange for a different location we can take the advantage and get in the double-cross first." Jack “That’s what happens at shitty Benny’s,” I say. Pause. “Well, any Benny’s.” And just like that, we’re plugged into The Matrix on Rewind -- full-on sci-fi virtual reality. Ogmios and I aren’t standing under the bridge in the present; we’re standing under the bridge moments before. Not really time-traveling; it’s just a vision. Like a hologram, reading and playing out the past. I watch as Movie Star Mercury steps out and kicks the barrel over. He must be the ‘asshole in the scribes’ because I haven’t seen a face so punch-able since-- --My eyes narrow as the most punch-able face I’ve ever witnessed follows out after him. Jet black hair, crystal green eyes, a jawline like a DC universe cartoon, and dressed in the yacht-club uniform of khaki pants and a polo tee. “Meet Christian. Rich guy, drinker of girly cocktails, die hard fan of Charmed, and actual telepath. I guess his gift is rare, but it’s not exactly noteworthy. Didn’t know he had connections to us,” I motion to Ogmios and I to indicate all of Awakened society. “He and Tessa got real close after, uh… after I lost my job,” I choose my words carefully and adjust my shades on my face one more time. Aviators do me the wonderful justice of turning my eyes into concealed carry weapons, and not openly noticeable dagger-cannons. I shut up and listen into the conversation Christian is having with Mercury… “Well, Genius -- you have any better ideas? I set the damn thing up in the first place; if you want to step up to the plate then be my fuckin’ guest.” he’s openly being a dick to someone. Shocker. “Oh, I have an idea,” Mercury grunts, and before I can hear Christian’s reply (which is probably irritating, smug, full of himself, and stupid) they’re out of earshot. Even as Ogmios turns and starts to rewind & fast forward his vision, I’ve already broken loose from it and I’m reaching into my dufflebag yet again. Put the iron pipe away; we aren’t ritualing anything right now. It’d take too long. Instead, I grab my phone, a crystal wine-glass, and a bottle of water. Ever met someone who’s really good at guessing? It’s a favorite trick of mine. Of course, I couldn’t pick the lottery out if you paid me to do it, if my life depended on it, or worse -- and I say that knowing that just because I couldn’t do that? It’s gonna happen. The point is; in an emergency, I can cheat. There’s truth in the seeming chaos of chance and random happenstance if you know how to see it... I unscrew the cap on the bottle and exhale slowly, muttering to myself that I really… really need to know where Christian is going. I pour it into the glass, but I don’t drink it: I set it down so the sunlight catches it and refracts onto the shitty, muddy dirt. I then turn on the phone’s camera; watching the refraction on the little touchscreen through the lens. Basically, I just need enough distortion to the light that I can say that this was purely external stimulus talking, that I didn’t inject my own mind into the information I’m looking for and accidentally rig the game with my subconscious assumptions. Like Mamma says: I’m either in it or I’m not. There’s no halfassing it. I can’t touch this info; it’s gotta be pure chance that I see what I do. I just need to roll the dice and see where they point. “C’mon, c’mon, c’moooon,” I grit my teeth, taking shot after snapshot after snapshot while I shake the camera. The blurriness does the trick: the final bit of randomized chaos to add to my Looking Glass Reflection from the crystal -- and in one of the smears I can make out what, to my mind, looks like a recognizable shape: The letter P. I know that symbol from somewhere… “Where in the hell?” I stare at the picture on the phone. “P… P… Perry’s. Perry’s Pawn and Prawn.” I groan. Every time I drive by that damn building I want to personally take whoever had the idea for such a ridiculous business, drag them out back, and shoot them. Repeatedly. “A favorite haunt of Christian’s. Let’s go,” I grunt, reaching down and picking up my shit, putting it back in the duffel bag and hoisting it up. “...Ogmios?” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Yo. Wake up.” Nope. Glassy-eyed, still lost in post-cog. I sigh, looking at my watch and waiting for him to snap back to reality. Ogmios Well that's an interesting development, what are the odds two people we both dislike for personal reasons would be chumming around? Wait, no, "I'm starting to think your luck might be as shit as you claim. Worse, it rubs off." I smirk at him just as he drops out of the vision. No reason to not be thorough though. I raise my hands and place them at the position of the clock for what we're viewing now and then start to move them counterclockwise. It's like standing in a film that's moving in reverse, Mercury and Christian walk backwards eventually disappearing. The sun starts to go west to east. Every once in a while I stop to make an observation, but even after going back twelve hours twice there isn't anything new to see. Time to break the clock, I bend my elbows ending the vision and the spell. SNAP Jack's fingers click right next to my ear and I jerk my head away reflexively. "So, I'm guessing you want to go after them?" Fine by me, I go around stuffing shit back into my duffle bag and kick a plastic bottle over towards him, "Don't litter." When I've got all my things I sling it into the trunk and then get into the car.